One night
by flyin'rabbit
Summary: Quirinus Quirrel had hoped for a nice, calm night.


**A/N**: Hello :) Thank you for reading! Just a little story I wrote... some time ;)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the world of Harry Potter. It's all Rowling's. Except for the line 'Watch a movie, rollerskate, fill the world with fear and hate' - that's from AVPM ;)

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It had seemed such a nice night. A normal evening, for as far as that was possible for a Professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The term had only started that day, so there was not too much pressure on anyone to grade essays, for example. A handful of Professors had insisted on preparing lessons for the morning after, but a couple had stayed in the staff room.

Quirinus Quirrell, the Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, was glad to find that his colleague Severus Snape, the Potions Professor, was among the group that had left. He had never been very fond of Snape, if he had to be very honest. Ever since Snape, a fourth year Slytherin back then, had sent some nasty hexes at Quirrell's group of first year Ravenclaws, there had been a certain fear for the other man.

When they met again years later as staff members at the school, Snape seemed to have forgotten all about that unfortunate meeting. That didn't mean he was friendly – Snape was _never_ friendly. Quirrell knew that much. Now that he was the newly appointed Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, Snape disliked him even more. Snape wanted his post, his colleagues had told him. He had known that, of course. After all, he had been the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts for five years before travelling for a year to get some first hand experience in dealing with the Dark Arts.

"Quirinus Quirrell, right?" He looked up, and found a young woman standing in front of him, extending her hand for him to shake.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered. "Y-You're r-right."

The woman looked at him concernedly. "Are you okay?"

"F-Fine," he replied. She didn't need to know he was far from fine – his turban was a rather inconvenient thing to carry around on his head all day, every day. But it was his own fault. He had failed. He now had to accept the consequences.

"Okay then," the woman said, not seeming fully convinced. As she sat down, she added, "I'm Charity Burbage, the new Muggle Studies Professor. Well, new… I started last year, of course." She chattered on, but he didn't hear it. He vaguely remembered her as a bubbly little girl who went around the school in her second year, asking random people whether or not they were Muggleborn.

"Quirrell, there you are." He looked up, startled, as Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall loomed over him. "I was just looking for you. Could you have a look at the cupboard in the empty corridor on the second floor first thing tomorrow? There's a Boggart in there – should be a piece of cake for you, I assume."

"Y-Yes, s-sure," he said. He wasn't looking forward to this task, but it came with the job.

"And how was your year off?" Apparently, the Transfiguration Professor didn't want to leave just yet. "I've hardly spoken to you since you're back – I've heard some wild stories, but you must tell me whether or not they're true some time soon."

Yes, they had hardly spoken, and with reason. McGonagall was a sharp woman – Quirrell was a little afraid that she would know if he wasn't completely telling the truth. She wouldn't even have to resort to Occlumency, like Snape had tried to do when he had first returned to the castle.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered. "I w-will t-tell you s-soon."

She just nodded and walked away again. Quirrell was almost ready to leave as well, when he remembered that he was supposed to be talking to his newest colleague. She didn't seem fazed or offended by his sudden jerking movement (of getting up and sitting down at once), and she didn't seem disturbed by the interruption either.

Muggle Studies. He couldn't quite understand, as Charity Burbage chattered on about Muggles, what had ever made him teach that subject. He was lucky for having gone on that trip – he would never have realised his mistake, his false judgement if he hadn't. Muggles weren't interesting or fantastic or fascinating. They were inferior to the wizarding race – they were nothing but filth. His master had taught him that well enough.

It was hard to comprehend that there were still people who didn't mind Muggles – who thought that they were cool and awesome and whatever adjectives they liked to use. Idiots.

"Anyway," Professor Burbage said, suddenly realising that it was a rather one-sided conversation she was having with him, "how _was_ your year off?"

He could lie to her. Easily. She wouldn't see through them – she was much too trusting and she probably saw the good in everyone, she didn't think people lied. How foolish. It made lying so much easier.

So he would. Partly – no, he wouldn't lie. He just wouldn't tell her the complete truth. Only part of it.

"S-Splendid!" he replied. "There w-was r-really a l-lot t-t-to learn!" Not only did he now know never to anger a vampire, he also knew some new truths. Truths he had never really thought about. But now that he did know them, he would never doubt them again. If only because of what was now attached to the back of his head.

"Where exactly did you go?" she asked, sounding interested. That wasn't really a good thing.

"Uh," he stuttered, "A-Albania, R-Romania… y-you know?"

"Oh right," she said, nodding. "There must be a lot to learn about the Dark Arts there, isn't it?"

"Q-Quite," he said. More than he had bargained for, in fact.

"What even got you so interested in them anyway?" she asked. "Muggles and the Dark Arts don't seem like two very similar subjects. They seem pretty hard to combine…" She seemed to rethink that. "Oh well, you know what I mean."

Quirrell, for one, _had_ always been interested in both Muggles and the Dark Arts. Now, he wasn't fascinated by Muggles anymore, and instead of studying how to defend himself against the Dark Arts (which was what had interested him before), he now liked to find new ways of _using_ those Dark Arts.

"W-Well," he started, "they're b-both g-good for – c-certain stuff. They t-taught m-me things."

"Like what?" she asked. She was probably exceptionally curious about what the Dark Arts had taught him. After all, she probably knew (and loved) everything Muggles could possibly teach wizards and witches.

"W-Well, l-like… that I c-can w-watch a m-movie, r-roller skate, f-fill the w-world w-with f-f-fear and hate." His colleague was eyeing him apprehensively now. Only then did he realise what he just said. Especially the third aspect of that little list. "Uh," he tried to correct himself hurriedly, "th-theoretically, o-of course."

"Theoretically," she repeated, looking at him suspiciously. "Everything could happen theoretically. Why are you mentioning, well, that?"

Bummer. He had hoped that she would be convinced by his (sort of lame) explanation. "Y-You w-wanted t-to know w-what the D-Dark A-A-Arts h-had t-taught me and th-that seemed l-like a s-substantial p-p-part of the D-Dark A-Arts."

"Right," she said. "Of course, it is. Unfortunately." She cocked her head to the side, as if she tried to judge whether or not he'd actually succeed in filling the world with fear and hate. He knew that by himself, he would never be able to do it, but now – he was not quite by himself anymore. She didn't know this, but he was sure that he had more of a chance to do such a thing to the world than she had in getting Muggles to be generally accepted and liked by the wizarding world.

What a silly little girl she was.

"So…," she continued, "you like roller skating?"

"N-Not r-really," he stuttered. It had been a stupid thing to say anyway. He could already guess what her next question would be.

She smiled. "No, me neither. It's a miracle that Muggles know how to use them. What kind of movies do you like?"

How predictable. He had watched countless movies – ever since he knew what they were, he had filled his holidays with watching them. He didn't mind any sort of movie, but this might have to do with the fact that he preferred observing the different techniques used for filming different movies over watching what the movie was actually about. Must be his magical blood.

"A-any k-k-kind," he said, before remembering that he hadn't watched any movie in ages. He had never had the chance to do so while travelling, and now – he had more important things to do. And his master made sure that he wouldn't stray too far from fulfilling his duty. Every single second of every single day. "B-But I d-don't h-have a lot of t-time f-f-for it nowadays." Merlin knew what she would've proposed if he hadn't said that.

"Busy life?" she asked in a rather… sympathising tone. As if he needed her sympathy.

"Q-Quite," he said once more. Teaching Defence against the Dark Arts was nothing like teaching Muggle Studies. It was much harder. But she wouldn't know that, of course.

"Yeah, me too, I suppose," she said nevertheless. "But it's the best job I could've possibly hoped for, so that makes it a lot easier."

Snorting wasn't something that would fit him now, so he refrained from doing that. This girl seemed to be living in some sort of dream world still – nothing was wrong, everything was perfect, and everyone was nice. He would've thought that growing up during the war – even though both of them had still been teenagers when it had ended – had given her a more realistic view on the world, but it appeared that it hadn't.

She wasn't even done talking yet, by the looks of it. "I'm s-sorry, P-Professor B-Burbage," he said. It didn't matter that he wasn't sorry at all. He ignored the fact that she opened her mouth – for what, he didn't even _want_ to know. "I have to go – " Do something. Anything. Well, anything that required him to be away from here. His master urged him to do so and he had no choice. He wouldn't have stayed, though, even if his master hadn't done this. It was getting ridiculous.

Before he could finish his sentence, the door flew open. As if the night couldn't get any worse – it was none other than Severus Snape. "Quirrell," he hissed in that voice that gave many a student (and Quirrell, too) shivers. "There you are. There's a Boggart in a cupboard on the second floor – why are you wasting your time sitting around here? You weren't hired for that."

Oh yes, the Boggart. He hadn't been very keen on dealing with it earlier this evening, but now, it was somewhat like a saviour.

"Ah," Snape continued, his eyes flickering over to Quirrell's companion. "Professor Burbage."

She smiled (yes, _smiled_) in reply and gave him a small wave. "Hello, Severus," she greeted him. Quirrell had to admit, he was impressed. Only just a little, though. Snape had started teaching here the year after he himself had graduated, and that meant that he had also taught her. Yet here she was, greeting him as if they were old friends. Snape didn't look as if he was very happy with her at that moment.

"O-Of c-course, Severus," Quirrell stuttered. Snape's eyes narrowed at him. He, of course, remembered the days when he had not stuttered. It was a hard thing to achieve, and he had to constantly watch his words to avoid any slip ups. Of course the stutter was purely an act. The less people knowing that, the better. "Minerva a-asked me th-the same th-thing earlier this e-evening."

"And why is it still there, then?" Snape asked in a tone that implied that he thought Quirrell was but an incompetent fool, a little toddler, someone who needed everything spelled out before them.

"I'm sorry, Severus, that's my fault." Both men looked at their younger colleague in surprise. Yes, it was true, sort of, but surely they had been close to forgetting she was even there. "I think I'll go back to my own room now, though. Good night, gentlemen."

Gentlemen. Neither he nor Snape were usually regarded as such, unsurprisingly.

"I-I'll g-go t-t-take c-care of that B-Boggart, then," he said, almost fleeing from the room. He didn't want to think of the shape his Boggart would take – he was fairly sure he already knew what it would be anyway – but anything was better than staying in this room.

It could have been such a nice, quiet night. Instead, he had had to endure the chattering of one of his colleagues, the suspicion of two others, and now he had to get rid of some Boggart in some cupboard. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing this for, but never for too long. His master made sure of that.

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**A/N**: Well, what do you think? :) Let me know, please review!


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